ABNE Infinite Possibilities
by BelloftheSea
Summary: Because I spend too much time thinking about A Boy Named Ed, I can't help but come up with all the little what-ifs that come with it. Most of them revolve around Al. What if Al got turned into a baby too? What if Al stayed in Central after returning from Xing? What if Ed didn't remember before Al came back? Those stories are here.
1. A Boy Named Relo

**ABNE Infinite Possibilities**

Because I spend too much time thinking about _A Boy Named Ed_, I can't help but come up with all the little what-ifs that come with it. Most of them revolve around Al. What if Al got turned into a baby too? What if Al stayed in Central after returning to Xing? What if Ed didn't remember before Al came back?

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><p><strong>Aurelo <strong>

They call me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. I have no last name, no family, and nothing I can truly call my own – it has always been that way. But in my dreams I have a brother; I have friends; I have a different name – if only I could remember it when I wake up.

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><p><strong>A.N. <strong> I was inspired to write this story shortly after posting Chapter 18 of _A Boy Named Ed._ _Aurelo_ is a what-if story, exploring what might have happened if Alphonse really had been turned into a baby as well. It is not considered canon with the main ABNE storyline. This first story will be a few chapters long. It is written in first-person from Relo's (Al's) point of view.

These what-if stories will be updated sporadically, whenever I feel inspired to write them. This one has actually been sitting on my computer for a while now but I didn't want to post it until after Ed found Al in the main story.

**Disclaimer:** Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

**Rating:** This story is rated K+

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><p><strong>Chapter 1, A Boy Named Relo<strong>

"Relo! Relo, wake up!"

Clara's voice cuts like a sharp knife through the landscape of my dreams. She doesn't belong here. She isn't a part of this world. I try to ignore her words, shut them out, if only to hold onto this vision a little bit longer. It's so peaceful right now. This is one of the good dreams – the ones I don't want to lose when I wake up. But I know. I know that as soon as I opened my eyes the images will slip away from my mind like sand between my fingers. I never can hold on to them for very long.

"You have to get up, Relo! We're going to be late!"

Her words strike like a hammer and the dream shatters into a thousand pieces. I mentally sigh at the loss. Even knowing that I will likely return to that place the next time I sleep does not make it any less painful to wake up. Even with all of the horrifying adventures which sometimes take place in my dream world, reality is so much worse.

I turn over on my back as my body reawakens but do not yet open my eyes. It isn't so much that my life is _bad_. I have a roof over my head, with only one leak; and food to eat, even if it isn't very good; a bed to sleep in, which isn't too lumpy if I find the right spot; and clothes to wear, only a few sizes too big. I'm not alone, although Clara, Max, Geoffrey, and Stel can't really be considered family and Clara is the only one close enough to my age to really count as a friend.

"Come on, Relo! I don't want to have to run to make first bell." Clara calls again.

I squint at the ceiling for a moment and then blink to clear the crusty sleep from my eyes. "Alright. I'm awake."

"It's about time." Another voice says. "Now get out of our room, Clara. No girls allowed." It's Max – he's the oldest boy at Lambert House, almost sixteen. He'll be leaving next year to get an apprenticeship somewhere.

I have been at Lambert House for a little over two years now. I was moved here after I turned ten because I was too old to stay at the Butterfly House anymore. Clara is a year older than me, but she's been here since she was seven because she is Mrs. Lambert's niece. Technically, Lambert House is a home for boys, run by Mrs. Lambert. Mr. Lambert is supposed to be the founder and owner of the home but he's never there. I've never even met him. Stel Lambert, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert's daughter, was supposed to be the only girl in the home and isn't very happy that she has to share her room with her cousin. But Stel is seventeen and isn't ever really happy with anything. Geoffrey, the other boy, is fourteen now. He doesn't like me very much, but I'm not sure why.

As Clara leaves the room, her long, black curls bouncing behind her, I push myself up out of bed and start getting dressed for the day. The pants I pick out are too long – they used to be Geoffrey's – so I have to roll the ends twice over to make them fit. I put on my favorite shirt though. It's a forest green button down with long sleeves and I was pleased to find that it fit me just right when I put it on after Winter vacation.

"Let's go, Golden Boy." Geoffrey sneers as he and Max leave the room. "We ain't gonna wait for you, ya know."

Rolling my eyes at the stupid nickname, I hurriedly tie my shoes and grab my school bag before following them out.

Max, Geoffrey, Clara and I are orphans, which is why we all live at Lambert House. Everyone has a different story about how they ended up in this situation. Clara's parents died in a car accident when she was seven. Max's dad was an officer in the Military Police and was killed during a street skirmish with an escaped prisoner. Geoffrey's story changes a lot so I don't really know what the real story is.

As for me… I don't have a story.

I was found as a baby and taken to Butterfly House. Ms. Jessica named me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. That's all I know.

I have no last name.

I have no parents.

I have no siblings.

Nothing that is currently in my possession can really be called my own. My clothes, my bag, my books – they all belong to Lambert House.

That's the way it has always been. I lived at Butterfly House for ten years and then I moved here to Lambert House. I attend the State-paid school known as West Central Secondary School or WCSS. I'm not a member of any teams or clubs. I don't do anything or go anywhere. My life is boring. I'm a nobody from nowhere with no past and no future.

That's why I like my dreams so much. Even when they are scary – bordering on nightmare territory – they are still so much more exciting than my real life. I just wish I could remember them. Then maybe I'd have something to think about during the day when the school work becomes monotonous and repetitive. It doesn't help that I already know most of what is being taught.

That's one thing I've got going for me: I'm smart – not like a genius or anything but definitely smarter than the other first years who force us to go over the same material over and over again. It doesn't take me very long to understand what we are being taught. Sometimes I check out books from the library to read when I get bored but it's hard to get away with doing that. The teachers at WCSS are very strict.

I do like to read though. It's the next best thing to sleeping. I can escape into my books almost as well as I can escape into my dreams.

And then there's my secret – well not really a secret; Clara knows about it and so does Mrs. Lambert, but Mrs. Lambert says I'm not allowed. It's too dangerous, she says. That doesn't stop me. I just have to be careful when I practice. Because alchemy is the one thing that makes me special, the one thing that I can say is all mine because no one else I know can do it, the one thing that sets me apart and makes me think that maybe I do have a purpose in this life.

I discovered it shortly after moving to Lambert house. There was an alchemy book in Mr. Lambert's library – an old one which hadn't been touched in a long time. It was a beginner's book. Mrs. Lambert told me I was welcome to read anything I wanted. She probably thought I would read the novels and history books like Geoffrey. But the science books were far more appealing to me and the alchemy was simply amazing. I read the book through twice in one day. Then I decided to try it out. Clara was there when I did my first transmutation. It was just a little wooden doll, imperfect and kind of lopsided, but I was ecstatic. I showed it to Mrs. Lambert, thinking that she'd be impressed, but instead she took the book away and forbade me from doing alchemy anymore.

But I love alchemy. After that first time, I couldn't stop. I practice in secret, sometimes stopping at the park after school to make little figurines out of the wood from fallen branches or the mineral deposits in the dirt. It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that I'm creating something new out of something that was old. And I think, if I could, I would do this for the rest of my life.

More than anything, I would like to get an apprenticeship with an alchemist but I have to be at least sixteen before I can apply and even then, it's not likely I would be chosen. As an orphan, I have no one to back me and vouch for my skill. Maybe if Mrs. Lambert was more open to the idea, but then… she isn't so I have nothing.

"Come back down to Earth, Relo. I thought you were done dreaming when I woke you up." Clara interrupts my thoughts as she falls in step beside me. It's three miles to school from Lambert House on the outskirts of the city, but Mrs. Lambert doesn't drive so we have to walk, come rain or shine, hell or high-water. Nothing short of a blizzard would convince her to let us stay home on a school day.

"Sorry. I was just thinking." I reply, glancing over to meet her chocolate colored eyes.

"Pretty deep thoughts." She smiles. "You had another dream last night, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"You never want to wake up from those dreams – not the good ones anyway."

"These days I don't particularly want to wake up from the bad ones either. At least that world is exciting." Clara is my only confidant about the dreams – about my alchemy too; she usually keeps watch while I practice. I like to tell her about them, even if I can't really tell her much beyond how they make me feel. What few details I do manage to remember, I let her know.

"It's a shame you don't remember them. You could probably write a really good story about them if you did. Any new details?"

I shrug. "More of the same, mostly. The house, the boy…"

"You called him your brother right?"

I nod. It's a silly thing really, to think of the boy in my dreams as my brother. But that's how I see it. Every time he appears in my dreams I know, without any doubt, that he is my brother – well, my dream-self's brother anyway. I'm not really sure that I'm the same person in my dreams. When I'm sleeping, I'm not Aurelo anymore. I have a different name, a better name.

I've never told anyone this, but I don't really like my name. A lot of people say it sounds exotic and it goes well with my coloring. But I just don't _feel_ like an Aurelo, or even a Relo. I feel like I should be called something else. I wish I could remember the name in the dream, the name my brother calls me.

I wish my brother was real.

Before long, we reach the school. Then the day begins. My classes are as tedious as ever. Only gym class has something good to offer – an outlet. The exercise feels good as my muscles stretch, extending and pulling. My blood feels the rush of adrenaline as I hit my second wind on the mile run we are assigned. There has always been something comforting about a good workout. Any stress that builds up during the day is released. All of my chaotic thoughts become focused. I find myself noticing things that most people probably take for granted or even consider annoyances. The pressure of the ground against my feet centers me with every step. The little cramp that forms in my side as I run is a reminder that I need to increase my oxygen intake. The air rushing in and out of my lungs reminds me how good it is just to be alive – to be a living, breathing, human being.

Gym is my last class of the day. I am grateful for this because it means I don't have to go back to the monotony of the classroom after finally releasing all of my frustrations. I take my time in the shower, rinsing off the sweat and just enjoying the warm water. I like it better this way because no one is left in the locker room by the time that I finish. I allow my mind to wander as I change back in to my plain clothes and stuff my gym clothes into my bag – they'll need to be washed tonight. I make a mental note to stop at the store for more detergent because I noticed we were out the last time I did laundry.

After leaving the gym, I head to the school library to check out some new books. I wish they had more books on alchemy but most of the good ones are locked up in the State Alchemist libraries, or so I hear. I make my way back down the halls to the school's main exit, glancing about for Clara. Sometimes she waits for me but I think she had something to do at home today and I'm later than usual. Just as I turn to leave, however, something strange catches my eye.

There is another boy in the hallway but not a WCSS student. He's wearing a uniform. It looks like one of the Central Academy uniforms I've seen children from wealthy families wearing. But what would a Central Academy boy be doing at West Central Secondary? I can't make out many other details about him. He's mostly just a silhouette standing in front of the sunlight streaming in through the open door at the other end of the hall.

He doesn't see me. He seems to be looking for a particular room because he keeps glancing at the door signs. He stops in front of the main office and lifts his right hand to double check a piece of paper he is holding. A stream of sunlight glares off of something metal and my eyes widen in realization. Is that automail? I've heard of it before, of course, but I've never seen it on someone so young. I'd wager to say this boy is even younger than I am. He's shorter than me anyway.

Before I can contemplate the matter any further, the Central Academy student walks into the main office, leaving me standing awkwardly in the hallway.

I have to pass the office on my way out of the building. I don't mean to eavesdrop but, as I pass, I can't help overhearing his voice through the still open door.

"I know you can't give out any personal information on the students," he says to Mrs. Healy, the office secretary. My feet slow to a stop without my telling them to. "But if you could just tell me if there are any boys here who look like this –" He holds up a picture. "Golden eyes and yellow blond hair – like mine. Please. Could you tell me?"

I freeze, still string into the room and Mrs. Healy's eyes rise to meet mine. She knows me of course. All of the faculty and staff know me. It wouldn't be hard for her to tell that boy to turn around. I'm standing right behind him. I can see him better now – his own yellow blond hair just a little too long, almost brushing his shoulders. The description he gave… he's describing me. I know it. There couldn't be anyone else. I just don't know why.

And suddenly, I feel afraid. I'm not sure why but I don't really want that boy to turn around and see me. I don't know what he wants and I don't know what he will do. Suddenly, my boring, nobody life seems safe and secure and familiar. As much as I've been hoping for something new, something different, now that the opportunity is right in front of me, I'm terrified to take it.

I shake my head, telling Mrs. Healy with my eyes not to give me away. I take a step back, then another just as the boy seems to notice that Mrs. Healy's attention is directed over his shoulder. He starts to turn and so do I. I turn quickly, prepared to run –

- only to smack my face hard against the door frame. I fall back, landing on my butt in an undignified heap, and clutching both hands to my forehead. Ouch… that really hurt.

"Oh, dear! Are you alright?" I can hear Mrs. Healy moving around from behind her desk to come and check on me but the boy is faster. He kneels beside me and puts his right hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to sit up straighter. I can see his arm better now, as I peer out from beneath my own hands. Definitely automail. I idly wonder how far up it goes.

"Hey, you okay? You know you're not supposed to use your head as a hammer, right?" He sounds friendly enough. I look up to see him grinning widely at his own lame joke and can't help but crack a smile of my own at the goofy expression. Then he opens his eyes and our smiles vanish.

I've never seen eyes like mine, before.

For several moments, we just stare at each other and I start to wonder what he's thinking. Is he as surprised as I am? Probably not. He was looking for me after all. I don't think he expected to find me so quickly though. The look in his eyes though – he's not just startled to see me. He's amazed and excited and overjoyed and at the same time he looks almost ready to cry. And I can only blink in confusion as he opens his mouth to say something, then gulps and tries again.

"Al?" He whispers the name so softly. I start to shake my head, but just then Mrs. Healy reappears with a bag of ice and holds it up to my forehead gently.

"Here you are Aurelo, dear. My, my, you're going to have a nasty goose-egg, young man."

I thank her and then watch as the Central Academy boy sits back on his heels, still eyeing me strangely. "Aurelo." He's says my name like he's trying it out, not really sure if it fits. It doesn't of course and he seems to agree if his sour expression is anything to go by.

I really get a good look at him then. He doesn't look exactly like me, by any means, but our coloring is almost identical. His bangs are long, falling into his face and partially obscuring his eyes – golden eyes, just like mine. His Central Academy uniform is clean and well pressed, probably tailored to fit him perfectly too – not like my oversized hand-me-downs. So yes, maybe we have the same coloring but that's where the similarities end. There is no way this rich boy and I are anything alike.

Mrs. Healy is still going on about something beside us, babbling about concussions and supervision and calling Mrs. Lambert to come pick me up. I tune in to her words again at that last comment.

"Oh no, Mrs. Healy. That's not necessary. I'm fine. Mrs. Lambert doesn't drive and she won't want to walk all the way out here to pick me up. I can make it home on my own." Nevermind that my head was throbbing and I could already feel the lump starting to push forward like some deformed horn.

"Nonsense! I couldn't possibly let you walk home alone in your condition. You could pass out or suffer a sudden bout of nausea. I'll just give Mrs. Lambert a call. I'm sure she'll understand completely."

I open my mouth to argue. Mrs. Lambert will be furious if she has to come get me. I need to make Mrs. Healy understand. But before I can say a word, the boy from Central Academy interrupts.

"If I may, Mrs. Healy, I can walk Al – I mean – Aurelo home. I know first aid. I even have a kit in my bag for emergencies. And I know how to watch for signs of a possible concussion." He speaks with such confidence, assured in getting his own way.

Mrs. Healy looks him up and down for a moment, likely noting his size but also his clean-cut appearance and friendly demeanor. I briefly consider arguing. I don't want him to walk me home. I still don't know what he wants or why he was looking for me. But if it gets me out of here without alerting Mrs. Lambert…

"What did you say your name was?" Mrs. Healy asks.

"Mustang. Edward Maes Mustang. My father is General Roy Mustang." I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the arrogant way in which he introduces himself. It's clear that he's used to tossing his father's name around to get what he wants. It doesn't seem to be failing him here. Mrs. Healy's eyes widen for a moment in near recognition but then narrow in confusion.

"The Flame Alchemist," the Mustang boy clarifies, completing the puzzle in Mrs. Healy's mind. It takes me a moment to get over my exasperation at his overconfidence, but then my own eyes fly open wide.

The Flame Alchemist?!

This kid is the son of the Flame Alchemist?! I can't believe it. Here I've been trying to find a way to further my own alchemy studies when the son of a real, bonafide, State Alchemist comes traipsing right into my life. And he's volunteering to walk me home. Maybe… maybe he even wants to be friends. Okay, so that's farfetched, but it could happen! And if it does, that's my in! I could get an apprenticeship – maybe not with the Flame Alchemist himself but he surely knows others who might want a young apprentice.

I can't pass up this chance!

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Mrs. Healy exclaims, a bit starry-eyed. "General Mustang! What a wonderful man! A great hero!"

"That's the one!" He smirks, sure that he's won. But he doesn't know Mrs. Healy like I do. Mrs. Healy doesn't let things go too easily. She doesn't trust kids to make good decisions and son of a general or not, this guy is still a kid. I'm going to need to say something or she'll never let me go with him.

"Well, then that changes things. I am certain you'll take excellent care of our dear Aurelo, Mr. Mustang. You just give his guardian this note for me, won't you? There's a dear."

My mouth hangs open wide as I watch Mrs. Healy hand a note to the still smirking Mustang kid. He's so sure of himself and it's no wonder! He actually gets what he wants!

A few moments later, Mustang is helping me to my feet, grabbing both my bag and his, and ushering me out the door. "Don't worry, Mrs. Healy!" he calls back over his shoulder. "I'll get him home safe. C'mon Aurelo."

"Relo." I mutter, eyeing him suspiciously. This boy may be my chance to break into the alchemy world but that doesn't mean he's not a spoiled, arrogant, rich kid. I just can't bring myself to trust him, or even like him based solely on my first impression. "It's just Relo."

"Relo?" he raises one eyebrow as we step out into the sunlight. Then he laughs. "That's even worse!"

"Hey!" I frown while he keeps laughing. On the one hand, I agree with him. My name is pretty odd and I don't even like it myself. But that doesn't give him the right to make fun of me.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He takes a moment to catch his breath. When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with a strange expression and his smile is soft. "Can I just call you, Al?"

The question startles me. What kind of person asks someone they just met if they can call them by a different name? Al doesn't even really work as a nickname for Aurelo. Well… okay, maybe it does. Sort of. If you take the A from the beginning and the L from the end and cut out all of the rest . But still…

"Why would you want to call me, Al?"

He smirks again. I'm starting to really dislike that smirk. It's like he knows something that I don't and he's teasing me with it. "It suits you better, don't you think? Al?"

I open my mouth to deny the claim but then I have to shut it again because… he's right. Al. Al sounds really good in my own ears. And it feels right, like it belongs to me.

Even so, I can't let him just walk over me like this. "You can't just go changing people names. You don't hear me giving you a new name do you, Edward Maes Mustang?" I do my best impression of his haughty display from the office earlier but it only serves to set him laughing again.

This time, I can't help but laugh with him. I try to fight it but it just comes out. There's something so ridiculous about all of this. He's not really being mean at all. No – his eyes are shining like a little kid at Summer Solstice. And he's smiling. He's smiling at me and somehow, silently beckoning me to join him in his elation.

When we both come up for air, that smirk is on his face again but I don't hate it anymore. This time I can read something else behind his eyes. Yes, he has a secret. But he's about to let me in on it. And then it will be our secret. And I can't wait to find out what it is.

"Call me Ed." he says. We start to walk again but he stops suddenly a moment later. He turns and looks me straight in the eye. His golden eyes are still shining brightly and his smile is soft and filled his warmth.

"Better yet – call me Brother."


	2. Call Me Brother

**Aurelo **

They call me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. I have no last name, no family, and nothing I can truly call my own – it has always been that way. But in my dreams I have a brother; I have friends; I have a different name – if only I could remember it when I wake up.

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><p><strong>A.N. <strong> It is incredibly difficult to write exclusively from one point of view – especially from the point of view of someone who hasn't got a clue what is going on. Poor Al – what do you do when a complete stranger informs you that he is your long lost brother? Ed really does seem a bit crazy without his own thoughts to explain his words and actions.

**Disclaimer:** Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

**Rating:** This story is rated K+

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><p><strong>Chapter 2, Call me Brother<strong>

Brother.

It's not possible. I don't have a brother – not outside of my dreams anyway. But this boy, Edward Mustang… Ed… we look so much alike. Could it really be? Is he my brother?

No. He's Edward Mustang, son of the Flame Alchemist – rich, spoiled, Central Academy elite. I'm just Relo. I'm a nobody, an orphan, abandoned as a baby, unwanted, and unloved. And I'm okay with that. I'm used to it. I don't need anybody else.

But I want it. More than anything, I want him to say those words again and I want them to be true. I want him to be my brother. I want to be Al Mustang.

Yeah, right… like that'll ever happen.

"What?" I ask for clarification because I know he must not have said what I think he said – or if he did, it's some kind of joke, part of the secret he's about to tell me. Although, if the game is going to go like this, I'm not sure how much I really want to play.

He reaches out to me, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving me a little shake. His grin is so wide that I think it might split his chin from the rest of his head.

"Call me Brother, Al." He says it again and I know he must be joking.

I swat his hand away and step back, forcing a small laugh. It's just a joke. He doesn't know how much it hurts to hear him say that – how much I've longed for that one thing which he's dangling in front of me right now – like the bone that the dog can never have.

"Whatever." I shrug it off like it's no big deal because it shouldn't be. Re-shouldering my bag, I continue down the walk once more. He falls into step beside me.

"I mean it, Al. You and me – we're brothers."

I shake my head. "No, we're not. We're not related at all."

"Sure we are. I mean, look at us. Have you ever met anyone else with golden eyes? I bet anyone passing us on the street right now would assume we're just that."

"So? That doesn't make it true."

"But it is."

I sigh and walk a little faster. Whatever bubble of joy and anticipation I felt moments ago is gone now. I just want to get home and away from this kid who keeps teasing me with what can never be.

"What's your last name, Al?" Ed speeds up so that he's a little bit ahead of me and then turns around and walks backward so that we are facing each other. His hands are in his pockets now, so I can't see his automail hand, but I notice an irregular bulge near his right shoulder which is different from the left. Does it go all the way up?

Casting those thoughts aside, I answer his question. "My name isn't Al. It's Relo. Just Relo. I don't have a last name." My tone is harsher than I intended it to be but it seems to do the trick. That goofy smile finally slides off of Ed's face and he tilts his head to one side as his eyes turn sad.

"Hey… don't be mad." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm kind of freaking you out right now. I'm just so excited. I've been looking everywhere for you."

There it is again. He was looking for me. Not just anyone, but me specifically. It doesn't make any sense though.

"Why?"

The smile returns like he simply can't help it – he even tries to fight it for a moment but his face reads like an open book.

"I already told you – we're brothers." I open my mouth to object but he interrupts. "No, wait! Just hear me out. Why don't you have a last name?"

I frown heavily. Is he trying to make a point or does he really not know? Everyone at WCSS knows what the Lambert house boys are. I've never had to tell anyone. But then, they probably don't get too many kids like me over at Central Academy.

"I'm an orphan. I've always been an orphan – never had any parents so I've never had a last name. That's why I live at Lambert House."

"Is Lambert House an orphanage?" He really doesn't know. Rich kids have it so easy. They haven't got a clue how the rest of the world works.

"More or less. It's a home for boys."

"Oh."

He seems to get stuck on pondering that so I take the opportunity to make might point without interruption. "So, you see? We're not brothers. You're a rich kid from the city and I'm a West Side nobody."

"You're not a nobody!" He says it so quickly, so readily, so seriously. For half a moment I think he's about to smack me upside the head but he stops himself and continues to sputter indignantly in my defense instead. "You're Al! Or…" he winces but forces himself to say it. "Relo, if you insist. You're kind and generous and bright – I bet you're the smartest kid at West Central Secondary! You're strong and loyal and, most importantly – you're my brother."

How do you respond to a compliment from a complete stranger? How could he even know any of those things about me, even if they were all true, which I'm not sure about? I mean, the smart thing – sure. I've always been top of my class. But the rest… I don't know. It's like he's describing someone else. And then there's the brother thing again.

"I'm not – "

He cuts me off again. "I'm an orphan too, you know."

I look at him skeptically. Now he's just messing with me. I'm getting tired of this. "I thought you were the Flame Alchemist's son."

He shrugs with a casual grin. "That too. I'm adopted. I'll even prove it to you." He pulls a wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a small picture, which he hands to me.

It's a family portrait – the fancy kind that a lot of families have made for Summer Solstice. I notice Ed first, sitting in the front, smiling that same goofy smile, in his perfectly pressed, probably hand tailored dress suit. His parents sit behind him – also elegantly clothed, each with a hand on their son's shoulders. Father, mother, son - a perfect family. Everything I can never have. I sigh and start to hand it back to Ed, completely forgetting why he showed it to me in the first place, when I notice something else.

Ed's right hand, in the picture, isn't automail. It looks like some sort of lightweight prosthetic which means this picture was taken before his surgery. But he doesn't look too much younger in the picture than he does now. I wonder how long he's had it. And how long did he live without an arm before that? He seems pretty comfortable with it already and for some reason that seems wrong – like it should take longer for him to get used to it. But then, what do I know about automail?

As I continue looking at the picture, my eyes suddenly catch what Ed was referring too when he pulled it out. Sure, at first glance, they seem like the perfect family, but, upon closer inspection I can see what's wrong. Ed doesn't look anything like his parents – either of them. The closest similarity is his mother's hair which is also blonde but a different shade. Her eyes are brown though and her face shape is nothing like Ed's. His father is even farther off – black hair and black eyes. There isn't a trace of the man in Ed's features. Which means… it must be true. Ed is adopted.

Ed is an orphan – or he was anyway. He was like me, lost and alone in the world, abandoned… until some rich general decided to adopt him. But… if he hadn't been adopted, he would have ended up at Lambert House with me. We would already know each other – be friends and maybe… maybe we really were brothers.

Two brothers separated long before we can remember. Possibilities and questions start buzzing through my brain. I was still an infant when I was found and taken to Butterfly House. Was Ed found with me? Were we both taken there but then Ed was adopted and I wasn't? If the general and his wife only wanted one… No one would have told me if I'd had a brother back then. It would have upset me, made me jealous, enticed me to run away and find him. I would have to. Is that what Ed did? He found out about me or his parents told him and he's been looking for me ever since? He's my brother! He's really…

No! I can't let myself think like that. I can't get my hopes up. It's too easy. Nothing is ever this easy. How many times have I waited for visiting days, hoping that some wonderful couple would pick me over all of the rest? Time after time, I got my hopes up only to be crushed. I started telling myself that I wouldn't hope the next time but it never worked. Even in those last days, before I turned ten and moved to Lambert House, I hoped. But older children never get adopted. And I know better now. No matter what Ed says – I can't hope. It's just too good to be true.

I hand the picture back to Ed and shrug, trying hard to hide the turmoil behind my eyes. "So, you're adopted. So, what? That doesn't automatically make us brothers. It's a coincidence."

"Ah, c'mon Al. You've gotta see it's more than that."

"No, I don't. It doesn't even make sense." I fish for holes in the theory. If I find them all, the ice will break and I'll be able to see the truth behind this farce. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twelve – just like you." He's so sure of himself again.

"So… what? We're twins? Fraternal twins? We're certainly not identical."

Ed hesitates and I know I've caught him as he considers his answer. "Sort of…" he says slowly.

"How is it sort of? Either we are twins or we're not – it can't be both. And if we're not twins, then we can't possibly be brothers."

"We _are_ brothers!" he insists.

I roll my eyes. "So we're twins?"

"Uh…" he rubs the back of his neck. "No. We're not." He finally admits but he jumps back in with the lamest excuse possible. "It's complicated!"

"It's a lie. And it's not funny." I can't hide the hurt from my eyes anymore. I know he can see my pain as I glare at him. His eyes widen in realization and he opens his mouth to apologize or something but I don't want to hear it. I push past and cut him off this time. "I'm done with this. Leave me alone. I can get home by myself."

About ten paces away, I finally hear him react. "Wait! Al – I mean – Relo! Don't go! Please!

I feel a tug on by backpack and pull hard against it. I won't let him tease me anymore. Maybe he doesn't know how cruel he's being but I don't have to put up with it. I jerk away roughly and then –

Snap!

I fall forward and barely catch myself with my hands. My bag lands heavily against my back and then swings to one side, no longer tethered to my shoulder. My eyes fly open wide as I stare at the broken strap and then I spin to glare at Ed.

"You idiot! Look what you did!"

He has the good grace to look sheepish. "Eh… sorry."

"Sorry isn't gonna help! Mrs. Lambert's gonna kill me. First the bruise and now my backpack – she'll think I've been fighting. I'll be grounded for a month!"

"Sheesh, Al… Calm down. I'll fix it." He crouches down beside me and looks closely at the seam where the strap tore from the bag, contemplating as though looking at it would somehow make it better.

"You can't fix it! It's broken!" I stare incredulously and he glances up with a look of surprised confusion before focusing once more on the bag. A moment later he nods firmly and then leans back. He looks up and down the street for a moment, as though checking to be sure we are alone. Then with a flourish, he brings his hands together in a clap. His flesh makes an odd sound against the automail but the ringing echo is what really surprises me. There is something eerily familiar about that sound. Both of his hands come down to press against my bag and one bright flash of light later, the strap is fixed.

Alchemy. I recognize it right away. But it doesn't make sense. He didn't use a transmutation circle!

"There you go! Good as new. Better even." He holds up my bag and I take it robotically, still trying to figure out how he managed that. Does he have hidden transmutation circles etched into his automail? But what are the chances of him having one specifically for mending a backpack?

"You alright, Al? Sorry – Relo?"

"Yeah." I shake my head to clear it. "I just… you're an alchemist."

"Of course, I'm an alchemist."

Of course. I want to smack myself. His father is the Flame Alchemist. Naturally, his son would be given every opportunity to learn that wonderful science as well – and apparently pick up some of the best kept alchemic secrets along the way.

"You're one too, aren't you?"

I look up in surprise. Is he guessing? How could he know about that? No one knows, except Clara. Unless…

"Have you been spying on me?" My eyes narrow in suspicion. If he saw me in at the park one day – that might explain this whole crazy endeavor of his. He knows I'm an alchemist and he wants me for something.

"What? No." He's either a really good actor or he genuinely did not expect that question. His brow creases like he's trying to figure out why I asked.

"Then how did you know I was an alchemist?"

And there's that grin again. He even laughs a little and, when he does that, it's really hard to stay mad at him.

"I don't have to see you do alchemy to know you're an alchemist. You've always been an alchemist. It's in your blood. Just like mine."

I'm tempted to point out that I can't even begin to do what he just did. I'll probably never be that good – not with my limited resources. But I can't deny how good it feels to be acknowledged as a real alchemist. It's in my blood – I like that.

And… I like Ed. He's kind of hard not to like, with that goofy smile and persistent, I-can-do-anything attitude. So, he's rich and conceited and far too smug. So, he's lying to me. Maybe he's crazy. Maybe he has some sort of compulsive lying disorder. I don't know. What I do know is that it probably wouldn't be so bad to at least pretend to be his brother… for a little while. He's kind of cool. And I suppose… if I did have a brother, I'd want him to be a lot like Ed – just without the lying part.

I heave a large sigh as I make up my mind. Tossing my good-as-new backpack over my shoulder, I throw a friendly smile to Ed. "Are you coming or what?"

His smile drops a little. "I thought you didn't want me to."

I roll my eyes and shrug. "Whatever. Just drop the brother stuff, okay?"

I can see it in his eyes – the battle to hold his tongue and… pain? Does he want to be my brother that badly? It doesn't make sense! He has everything he could ever want – a home, a mom, a dad… what could he possibly want from me?

A moment passes and he nods, seemingly resigned to my rules. "Sure thing, Al – sorry… Relo."

I grin when he forces my name out again. He really doesn't like it. Not that I blame him.

"It's alright. You can call me, Al. I think I like it better anyway."

His eyes light up and I can't help but laugh a little at his excitement. Then I turn and lead the way back to Lambert House. The rest of the trip is fairly quiet. Ed makes several false starts on conversation but seems to reconsider his words every time. I wonder what going on inside his head.

We walk side by side but I can feel his eyes on me the whole time and, when I look, I am surprised by the expression of pure amazement radiating from his face. It's like he can hardly believe I'm here. Maybe it's not just a compulsive lying disorder. Maybe he's actually crazy and he really believes I'm his brother. Do rich people have crazy kids?

I think back to the idea of us having been twins. He says we're not, which blows the whole idea out of the water. But if we were… it probably wouldn't mean anything anyway. I doubt his parents would be too happy with him seeking out his long lost brother. If they only wanted one kid then they probably wouldn't want another now. And even if they did… would I want to be adopted by people who rejected me at first? It just seems like a bad idea.

But what then?

This whole afternoon has been a whirlwind, like something out of one of my dreams – dreams in which I have a brother. Am I dreaming now? Maybe I never actually woke up this morning.

A twinge in my forehead reminds me of the growing lump there. Dreams don't hurt. So I guess I'm not dreaming then. But I know that, just like my dreams, this is all going to end soon. Ed is going to drop me off and go back to his perfect home with his perfect parents and I'll probably never see him again. This day will just be one weird blip in my horribly mundane life – a little adventure for me to look back on and think about all of the what-ifs. Maybe I'll write a story about it. Clara keeps saying I should write stories. _The Boy and the Not-Quite-Brother. _I'll probably have to work on the title.

I glance over at Ed and see him smiling again – that gentle smile, filled with so much affection that I can't believe it's really meant for me. As I look away, I feel a sudden pain in my chest. It hurts. I don't want this to end. I want this crazy afternoon to keep going. Even as my head is telling me not to hope, not to yearn for the things which cannot be, I can't help but want this day to last forever.

I don't want Ed to leave. With him, I don't have to be Relo anymore. I'm not an orphan, not a nobody. I'm Al. I'm a real alchemist. It's in my blood. And even if I'm not really his brother, I'm important to him – at least for right now, I'm somebody important.

But when he leaves… I'll just be Relo again. And it'll be just like waking up from my dreams.

All too soon, we're stopping in front of Lambert House. I sigh and brace myself to wake up. I won't let it show. Play it cool, Al. Don't act weird. I turn to say goodbye and almost gasp out loud when I realize that I just called myself Al, in my head. I can't do that. Bad idea. As soon as he leaves, I'll just be Relo again.

"This is where you live?"

I look up to see him staring at Lambert House with a contemplative frown. Turning to the house, I see what he is seeing. Lambert House is one of those places that used to look really nice before years of neglect and disrepair left it looking a bit rundown – paint peeling off the walls, loose shingles, foggy windows, one broken window courtesy of Geoffrey and a rogue ball last summer, over grown yard, scraggly bushes. With Mr. Lambert always away, things only get done when Mrs. Lambert decides it's worth the cost to hire a repair man. It's not a pretty house by any means – but then, none of the houses on our street are particularly pretty. And the inside is clean at least. Mrs. Lambert doesn't like dirty floors or dusty shelves and we all have to help keep things neat and tidy.

Still, it's a bit embarrassing to have Ed here – looking at Lambert House like its little more than a whole in the wall. I suppose he must live somewhere really nice. But he shouldn't be that surprised. This is West Side – all of the houses here are rundown.

"Yeah… it is. Not all of us can live in Central Hills."

He barks out a laugh. "I don't live in Central Hills."

Okay, so I shouldn't stereotype. Attending Central Academy doesn't automatically make someone a millionaire. "Where do you live?" I ask, drawing out the conversation, if only to keep him here awhile longer.

"Midtown." Right, not millionaire, but still pricy. Midtown is supposed to be a nice place for families though. "I'd have to be crazy to live in Central Hills. Armstrong lives there." He shudders.

"Who's Armstrong?"

"The Strong Arm Alchemist. Really big guy."

Another State Alchemist then. Ed sure has a lot of connections. "Why don't you want to live near him? Is he mean?"

"What? No! He's really nice – too nice actually. He thinks the solution to every problem is a big bear hug."

"That doesn't seem so bad. Unless he squeezes too tight."

"He does, but that's not the worst part."

"What the worst part?"

"He always takes his shirt off before he hugs you. And he sparkles."

I get the strangest mental image then of a giant man with bulging muscles and a shiny bald head, flexing and sparkling for all to see. Ed suddenly jumps into a muscleman stance in a ridiculous mimicry of the picture in my head.

"The art of sparkling has been passed down the Armstrong family line for generations!" he declares in a deep voice. I laugh – I'm pretty sure that was Ed's intention because his own eyes are sparkling as he watches me and chuckles along. He sighs and smiles that warm smile while I remember how to breathe. "I've missed you, Al."

I stop laughing and look up at him, rubbing at my forehead where it's started to throb from the head rush caused by laughter. He seems to catch what he just said and winces, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry."

His eyes are so sad now and I can tell he wants to say more but is holding himself back. If I didn't know it would hurt too much to hear more lies about being his brother – I'd probably let him say it. He seems so genuine – like it's hurting him too. I don't know what to think.

The street lamp flickers on beside us and I look up, realizing that the sun is setting. I'm really late. "I need to go. Thanks for walking with me, Ed."

"No problem."

Turning to go inside, I am surprised when he falls in step beside me. "What are you doing?"

He shrugs and holds up the paper Mrs. Healy gave him. "I'm supposed to give this note to your guardian."

"Oh, right. I can give it to her though. You don't have to." I reach for the note but he snatches it away.

"Nope! My mission is not complete until I deliver this note personally." He grins wickedly and I wonder what he is up to. This is a bad idea.

"No, really Ed. Mrs. Lambert doesn't like it when we bring guests over."

"I'm not a guest. I'm your escort. Don't worry about Mrs. Lambert. I'll take care of everything." And then he is knocking on the door and I can only tense and prepare myself for what is sure to be a horrible encounter.

The door opens and Ed starts right in before Mrs. Lambert can say a word – that winning smile plastered on his face and his tone so perfectly polite. "Good evening Mrs. Lambert. My name is Edward Mustang and I –"

"I'm not interested in buying any cookies." Mrs. Lambert interrupts him, having taken in his uniform and jumped to the wrong conclusion. Ed pauses only a moment, but then continues on, undaunted.

"Well, that's good. I don't have any to sell. I was just over at West Central Secondary School, making an inquiry about a friend of mine, when Aurelo here got a nasty bump on his head. Mrs. Healy, the school secretary, was worried about a concussion so she asked me to walk him home, just to be safe. I have a note."

He hands the paper over and Mrs. Lambert's eyes flick to me almost belatedly. She hums over the note for a moment and then slips it into her pocket. "Very well. Thank you for your time. Aurelo, come inside and get ready for dinner."

"Yes, Ma'am." I move to go in but Ed's hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Hang on." He frowns up at Mrs. Lambert. "Aren't you going to ask if he's alright? That lump on his forehead isn't exactly a fashion statement."

My guardian's smile couldn't be more condescending. "Young man, I assure you that Aurelo's injury will be attended to. If you'd just be on your way, I will see to it presently."

I've never seen anyone stare down Mrs. Lambert. Even Stel wouldn't dare. Yet here is Ed, meeting her glare for glare, as though daring her not to take the utmost care with my health and wellbeing. Not that I'm worried. My head isn't even that bad anymore and, if something was really wrong, Mrs. Lambert would certainly see to it that I was taken care of. She's not a cruel woman and she gets paid good money to make sure her wards are safe. I don't need her to baby me or anything. But, admittedly, it's nice to hear Ed's concern. And listening to him scold Mrs. Lambert is pretty amazing.

Still, this could get ugly if I don't say something. "I'm fine, Mrs. Lambert. Really. Thanks, Ed. I'll be alright."

He glances at between me and Mrs. Lambert and I smile to let him know that I'm okay. Finally he sighs and nods. He doesn't say anything though and he doesn't move. I get the impression that he would stand there all night, just staring at me, if I let him. I can't do that though.

This is it. Time to say goodbye to the crazy rich boy who thinks he's my brother and go back to being plain old Relo. Don't make a big deal out of it. Just go - like ripping off a bandage.

"Bye, Ed." I whisper. Then I duck inside quickly and blink back the tears that shouldn't be coming to my eyes. It's stupid! I don't even know him. I only met him a few hours ago. He's not my brother and he never will be. Stop dreaming, Al. No – Relo. I'm just Relo now.

I make my way into the kitchen where the others are already busy, setting the table for dinner.

"There you are, Relo!" Clara exclaims. "What kept you so long? We were worried."

"Speak for yourself, Clara." Geoffrey scoffs and then smirks when he gets a good look at me. "Nice goose-egg. What happened to your forehead, Golden Boy?"

I don't get a chance to answer. "You should see the other guy!" Ed quips from behind me. I spin around, surprised.

"What are you still doing here?"

He shrugs. "Mrs. Lambert said I could use your phone."

"Aren't you a bit far from home?" Max asks eyeing Ed's uniform with a frown.

"Hence the phone." Ed nods. "It's too late to walk. I'll have my dad come pick me up."

I don't know whether to be happy that he staying longer or annoyed that I went through that whole bandage thing too soon. "The phone's over here, Ed." I lead him into the hallway just as Clara finishes laying out the silverware and decides to join us.

"Wow!" She exclaims, looking between me and Ed. "You have golden eyes just like Relo. You two could be brothers!"

Ed smirks and elbows me playfully. "Told you."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Please don't, Ed."

"Sorry." He says, but he's still smiling as he picks up the receiver and dials. I can hear the ringing on the other end and then a muffled voice.

"Hey, Lieutenant Barkley! It's Ed Mustang. Can you put me through to the General? Thanks!"

I gasp in surprise as I realize that he's called Central Command directly. And he didn't even have to look up the number. He looks at me while he waits for the call to go through and explains. "All outside calls have to go through communications."

"Your dad's in the military?" Geoffrey asks, leaning against the wall casually. Beyond him, I can see Max lingering in the kitchen, but close enough to hear, and Stel and Mrs. Lambert have paused their own conversation, in the living room, to eavesdrop. Apparently Ed is something of a novelty for Lambert House. I almost want to tell them all to go away and give him some privacy but that's not really my place. Instead I answer Geoffrey's question.

"His dad's the Flame Alchemist." I realize too late that this information will only make it worse. Immediately, Max crams himself into the hallway, next to Geoffrey. Stel and Mrs. Lambert inch closer as well.

"No way!" Max exclaims. "For real? The Hero of Ishval?"

Ed makes a sour face. "He hates that name." Then the scowl is replaced by a smile as the line is answered. "Hey Dad! It's me… No, I'm actually in West Side… Yeah, West Central Secondary. I found him, Dad!"

I can't entirely stifle the gasp that escapes at his words. His father knew then – knew that he was looking for me. What does that mean? Are his parents in on this whole brother thing? Or is he talking about something else entirely? What's going on?

"No… I'll tell you, tonight… Yeah. Can you come pick me up? ... I'm at a place called Lambert House. Uncle Kain can get you the address, right? ... Yeah. Sure… I'll see you soon… Bye Dad." He hangs up and looks around at the crowd in the hallway. His eyes finally land on Mrs. Lambert and he speaks to her first. "My dad will be here in about half an hour. Is it alright if I wait here? I promise I won't be a bother. I've got homework to do anyway."

I can tell that Mrs. Lambert wants to say no. She doesn't like anything interrupting the flow of things in her home. But then, she probably realizes it might look bad if she forced the son of a State Alchemist to wait out in the street – especially considering her own position as the directress of a state-paid home for boys. So she finally nods. "Very well. There's a bench next to the dining room where you can work while you wait."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Lambert."

"Everyone else, take your seats for dinner."

A chorus of "Yes Ma'am's," sound in reply as I watch Ed make his way to the bench and pull a book from his bag. He notices my stare and grins up at me. I just smile and shake my head before taking my seat beside Clara.

Dinner is always a quiet affair at Lambert House but tonight everyone seems a bit twitchy. I can see Max and Geoffrey just burning to ask Ed all sorts of questions about his dad. Clara also seems curious and even Stel can't keep herself from glancing over at Ed every few minutes. It's a bit awkward too, eating while he sits off to the side – alone.

About three minutes into the meal, we all look up at Ed when a strangle gurgle sounds from his stomach. He just grins sheepishly. "Eh… sorry."

Two minutes later, it happens again and I have to stifle a chuckle.

When his stomach growls a third time, Mrs. Lambert gives in. "Oh, for goodness sake!" she exclaims. "Clara, get him a plate."

Ed starts putting away his book even as he protests. "You don't have to have to do that Mrs. Lambert. I'm fine, really."

"Don't be ridiculous. I won't sit here and eat while a boy goes hungry in my house."

I stand up and slide my chair over, making room, then bring a stool over from the corner for him to sit on.

"I've got it, Al." Ed comes over to take the stool from me and, in the brief tug-o-war which ensues, we fail to notice Clara, returning with a plate and silverware for Ed. The china smashes against the floor before anyone can think to try and catch it.

For a moment, nobody moves. Mrs. Lambert's face is as red as a tomato. Nearly everyone else is gaping.

"I'll get the broom." I say, breaking the silence. But Ed stops me from moving.

"No, don't Al. I've got it." He squats down next to the broken plate and I realize what he's about to do. Except… Mrs. Lambert doesn't like alchemy. Before I can say anything though, he takes a piece of chalk from his pocket and starts to draw a transmutation circle on the floor – derailing my train of thought with a new question.

"What are you doing, boy? Don't draw on my floor! Don't you think you've done enough damage?" Mrs. Lambert is having a lot of difficulty keeping her temper.

"It's just chalk. It'll clean right up."

"Why don't you just…" I start to ask, but a sharp look from Ed cuts me off. I don't understand it but… for whatever reason; he doesn't want anyone else to know about his clapping thing.

"It's my fault the plate is broken. The least I can do is fix it." He finishes circle and sits back.

"Is that alchemy?" Stel asks, sounding awed.

Mrs. Lambert gasps and stands up, making as though to stop Ed. "Wait!"

But it's too late. Ed presses both hands to the edge of the circle and blue light flashes as the pieces of china are deconstructed and reconstructed into a perfect plate – identical to the one which was broken.

"Tada!" Ed picks up the plate with a flourish and sets it on the table, then rolls his eyes at the amazed looks being sent his way by everyone still sitting at the table. "Oh, come on. That was nothing. I'm sure Al's shown you guys more complex transmutations then that?"

"You mean, Relo?" Geoffrey scoffs. "He's no alchemist."

Ed frowns. "What do you mean? Of course he is."

"Actually, Ed… I'm not." I look down, embarrassed at having to admit it. "Not really anyway. You see, I'm not actually allowed to do alchemy so…" I can't tell him that I've been practicing in secret – not here with everyone and Mrs. Lambert listening. It doesn't really matter. I'll never be as good as he is.

"That's crazy!" Ed looks absolutely appalled. "You have a gift, Al! You can't let them stifle that." He turns a glare on Mrs. Lambert, who looks part flustered and part angry, and for a moment I am sure that we are about to have a big problem. But before he can open his mouth again the doorbell rings.

I sigh in relief as Mrs. Lambert stands to get the door. The rest of the room watches her go in stunned silence while Ed fumes. "This is ridiculous." He grumbles. "She can't keep you from doing alchemy."

"Mrs. Lambert, I presume?" A smooth voice sounds from the foyer. "I'm here to pick up my son, Edward. Thank you for looking after him. I do hope he hasn't been too much trouble."

"Oh! Not at all, General! He's been absolutely delightful."

I can't believe it! Here I was sure that she was going to start ranting about how much trouble Ed's caused and instead, she praises him? Around me, I can see the equally shocked looks on my housemates faces but Ed is suddenly grinning wickedly.

"Hah! Perfect. Don't worry, Al. I've got a plan!" Then he is sitting up straight at the table and smiling brightly, the picture of a perfect houseguest. Clara and I are still standing awkwardly when Mrs. Lambert re-enters the room. The dark haired man from Ed's picture comes in behind her, dressed to the T in his military uniform – stars shining on his shoulders and hat tucked perfectly under his arm. "Hey, Dad! You're just in time. I just finished eating. Mrs. Lambert is an excellent cook."

What is he up to? He didn't eat anything! And if he had, he would know that the food isn't very good at all. Mrs. Lambert looks completely baffled but quickly covers it up.

"Oh, you're too kind!"

Behind her, General Mustang eyes Ed's plate suspiciously and I get the feeling he knows perfectly well that his son is lying; but he goes along with it anyway. "Wonderful. Then I guess I can eat your serving tonight."

"No way! I'm gonna need a midnight snack."

Ed banters with his father a bit more and it almost hurts to see how close they are. Whatever game Ed is playing at, his dad is able to pick up on it right away and play along. I sigh and move to take my seat again.

Alright… for real this time. He's gonna go and that's that. Tomorrow night, dinner at the Lambert House will be quiet and normal again. No more growling stomachs. No more broken plates. No more alchemy. No more Ed.

"Dad! I want you to meet someone." Suddenly, Ed is standing behind me with both hands on my shoulders. I look up at him in surprise and then back at the Flame Alchemist whom I am apparently about to be introduced to. "This is Aurelo – but I call him Al. He's an alchemist, Dad!"

"Are you now?" I can't bring myself to meet the General's eyes. Ed is making too big a deal out of this. It's embarrassing.

"Sort of." I admit. "I'm not very good, Sir."

"He's not allowed to practice, Dad." Ed's voice sounds sad, almost pleading – so very different from his earlier anger.

"Oh? And why's that?" I am surprised to hear the upset in General Mustang's tone, nearly echoing his son's. He turns to Mrs. Lambert for an answer and I almost feel sorry for the woman as she sputters, trying to come up with a way to answer the famed Flame Alchemist.

Ed chest shudders with stifled laughter and I look up to see him struggling to keep a straight face – his eyes gleaming. Then I realize - he planned this. He's… is he really gonna find a way to let me practice alchemy? Will it even work? I have to work to keep my own face straight as I watch the scene unfold.

"I'm sure you can understand, General." Mrs. Lambert begins. "We have no alchemists in the area who can teach the boy. It simply wouldn't be safe to allow him to practice on his own."

"Yes. Of course, Mrs. Lambert. I understand completely."

I feel my hope deflate just as quickly as it rose. Of course she had an answer that made sense.

"Dad?" All eyes dart back to Ed. "I was thinking – you know I've been hoping to find someone my own age to practice with. Maybe Al could come and learn with me?"

No way! He can't be serious! Studying alchemy with Ed and the Flame Alchemist?! It's too good to be true! Can this really be happening?

"It's awfully far from here to Midtown for him to come over after school." The General points out but Ed is quick to find a way around it.

"He can stay over on weekends. We'll meet halfway after school on Fridays and we can drive him back to West Central Secondary on Monday mornings. That way you can be home to supervise our alchemy lessons."

"Hmm… it's certainly an idea. What do you say, Mrs. Lambert? If the boy has talent, it really should be trained. Better to start early, wouldn't you agree?"

Please… please, please, please. I turn pleading eyes on the woman in charge of my care. Not once, in the two years I've lived here, have I ever asked for anything of importance or value. I never argued with her about the alchemy, even if I was practicing behind her back. Now though… now… I've never wanted anything so badly. Please let me do this.

"Please, Mrs. Lambert." It's Ed who asks.

I turn around to look at him in surprise. His eyes are filled with so much hope and longing – as though his future is riding on this decision as much as mine is. It doesn't make any sense. Why is he doing this for me?

"Well… I suppose it's alright by me so long as his school work and chores aren't neglected."

I hear Mrs. Lambert's words but I don't turn to look at her. I'm still staring at Ed, watching his eyes light up and that brilliant grin split his face again. "You hear that, Al? You're coming to my house!" He hesitates half a moment and then suddenly pulls me into a tight embrace. "Everything will be perfect, Al. You'll see." He says quietly. Then, just as suddenly, he releases me and I'm left standing awkwardly in the midst of my housemates' stares, which are only slightly more baffled than my own.

But then I find myself smiling because finally, _finally!_, something is going right in my life.

"Time to go, Son." The General's voice cuts through the moment. "Al's going to need to pack an overnight bag if he's coming over tomorrow."

That's right! Tomorrow is Friday!

"Right. Yeah, we'd better get going. I need to get the spare bed set up too."

This is really happening.

"Thank you again for your hospitality, Mrs. Lambert. I'll be sure to keep you updated on Al's progress as an alchemist."

I'm going to be an alchemist.

"Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Lambert!"

And then they are gone.

I stand awkwardly for a moment as, around me, the dining room starts to re-animate. Everyone starts talking loudly, all at once, about the strange whirlwind which just tore through our normally boring dinner hour.

I don't actually tell my feet to move. Nor do I notice when Mrs. Lambert calls me back. I keep going until I reach the foyer. Then I'm through the front door and racing down the walk to where Ed and his dad are just now getting into the car.

"You'd better not eat my food, Dad! I'm starving!" Ed says, opening a door and tossing his bag into the back seat.

"And here I thought you already ate." His father mocks him.

"You know I didn't! My plate is never _that_ clean!" He starts to get in.

"Ed! Wait up!"

"Al?" He looks at me with a smile and something like concern wavering behind his eyes. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I just… I wanted to say… Thanks." I pause for half a moment and smile.

"Thanks, Brother."

His answering grin is brighter than I've seen before. He barks a laugh and holds out his hand for me to clasp. "No problem. I'll see you tomorrow, Al."

"Yeah!" I squeeze his hand tightly and then stand back so he can get in the car. As his dad starts the engine and Ed spins turns in his seat to watch me as they drive away.

I can't stop smiling.

None of this makes any sense and the logical part of my brain is still telling me to be careful, warning me that I'm just going to end up hurt. But I don't care.

For the first time in my life, I'm more than just Relo. I have a chance, a _real_ chance, to be someone. And even if I do get hurt in the end – it'll be worth it. It's already worth it. It's worth it because… I have a brother.


	3. If You're Reading This

**If You're Reading This**

Roy Mustang didn't want to remember the day he learned the truth – but those letters had been hidden away for nine years now and it was time for them to be delivered.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. <strong> First, don't worry! I'm not done with Aurelo. There will be more coming. I just have other ideas to write as well

Second… I didn't want to write this. I cried myself to sleep last night when the plot bunny struck me and refused to leave me alone. This is one possibility that – while realistic – DID NOT HAPPEN! It's just what could have happened if… well… if that letter I left you all with yesterday really was the last one. Just a one shot – NOT continuing this plotline.

P.S. Bring tissues

**Disclaimer:** Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. _If You're Reading This_ belongs to Tim Mcgraw. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

**Rating:** This story is rated K+

* * *

><p>"Where is he, Dad? Where's Al?"<p>

Roy Mustang would've given anything to be able to lie to his son in that moment. As he looked down upon those golden eyes – begging, pleading for an answer – he wished that he could say he didn't know. He wished that he could tell him anything besides the truth.

He didn't want to remember the day that young woman had appeared in his office, with tears still running down her cheeks and a parcel tightly clutched in her arms. He didn't want to hear her voice asking, so desperately, if he knew where she could find Edward Elric.

He'd told her that Fullmetal was missing – such was the official story – only to have her break down, there on his office floor.

"I promised." She'd cried. "What do I do? I promised him I'd bring his letters to his brother. It was all he wanted."

"Who?" He'd asked. But he didn't want to know – not really.

"Alphonse…"

His heart had clenched so tightly at that single word – preventing him from breathing, from moving, as she told him of the years she had traveled with the younger Elric brother in Xing and how they had made a valiant attempt to escape that war torn country and how he had died… died a heroic death to ensure her safety and that of another companion.

And that parcel – those letters – were all that was left of Alphonse Elric. She'd promised to bring them home, to deliver them to the person he had cared the most for – his brother.

So the Colonel had led her to Gracia Hughes' home, where his three-year-old son was awaiting his return, and explained the circumstance and promised to keep the letters for Ed until the time was right for them to be delivered.

He'd never read them – never dared to open the letters which were meant for his son's eyes only. But he had hoped that he would never have to give them to the boy.

For nine years, those letters had been safely tucked away. And now… now it was time.

"He's gone, Son."

Ed frowned in confusion but Roy couldn't bring himself to say anymore and it only took the boy a moment to understand.

"No… No!" He shook his head. He clutched at his father's shirt. He begged and pleaded for another answer.

Roy pushed the boy's hands away, struggling to contain his own pain and grief. He said nothing as he turned and left his son there, still screaming on the bed in his mother's arms. He returned a moment later with the parcel.

"He left these for you, Ed. They came to me shortly after…" he couldn't finish.

Ed took the package but his hands shook too badly for him to open it. He wouldn't have been able to read them through the tears anyway.

For hours, he laid there, his pain not one that medicine or bandages could take away. And there was nothing that Roy or his wife could do to ease their son's suffering. They could only wait until, eventually, he ran out of tears to cry.

Then, with some sort of solemn reverence, he opened the letters, one at a time, and began to read.

The night passed slowly, quietly, as one by one the letters were finished and set aside, so carefully, on his night stand, at the feet of the statue so reminiscent of the boy who'd once lived as a suit of armor.

The final letter was little more than a scrap of paper, hastily written and smudged with tears.

And when he was done… the boy lifted his eyes and said only one thing. "I want to go to Resembool."

The trip was planned quickly and quietly. The train ride was silent. In his arms he held the letters and the figurine he has made with his own hands. He clutched them so tenderly to his chest. His eyes stared out the window without seeing – filled with pain and longing but without any tears.

Winry Rockbell met them in the graveyard – at the top of the hill where her parents were buried, and her grandmother… and his mother. She didn't understand at first but their reason for being there soon became clear.

There, beside his mother's grave, Ed read the letters out loud.

His voice was clear and strong. He read the story of a boy who had traveled far and been through so much but always kept himself centered on one goal – returning home to his brother.

No one cried. How could they, when Ed was so strong? Later… later they would each grieve in their own ways. But this moment was for Ed and Al… two brothers who would never be reunited.

He read the final letter.

"Brother – I'm Sorry. I can't keep my promise. I…" His voice broke, only once, but he pushed through with that same fierce fire and determination which had driven him, so long ago, to fix the mistake he'd made and restore his brother's body.

"I love you, Brother. Al."

Then he knelt on the ground and began to draw with his finger in the soil. He didn't pause in his work for even a moment until he was finished. The circle was perfect. There were no flaws.

He placed the statue – that miniature suit of armor – in the center, and then pressed his fingers to the edge.

The light from the transmutation seemed to linger long after it was done.

The figurine was gone – buried deep within the earth – and in its place was a headstone, perfectly sculpted to match the rest, and engraved so simply.

_Alphonse Elric_

_My Brother_

Beneath those words was a familiar symbol, drawn in red – a circle, just so slightly imperfect so that it could never be used, but so very much like the seal which had once bonded a soul to a suit of armor.

Roy didn't have to see the cut on his son's hand to know that the boy had used his own blood.

The letters were wrapped up so neatly back within their parcel and held so tightly against Ed's chest – all that he had left.

He sat there through the night – a silent vigil. His mother and his friend came and went but his father stayed. As the moon made its way across the sky, Roy stood by his son. And if there weren't any clouds to provide the rain which fell upon both of their cheeks – neither of them was going to point it out.

When the sun rose over the hill, the boy finally stood, still holding his letters so tightly. Those would come back to Central. But this is where Edward would leave his brother – next to their mother in the town which was once their home.

He laid his hand upon the stone and tried is best to offer one final smile.

"You didn't break your promise, Al." He whispered. "You came home. You're home now."

* * *

><p><em>So lay me down<em>

_In that open field out on the edge of town_

_And know my soul_

_Is where my momma always prayed that it would go_

_If you're reading this_

_I'm already home_


	4. Big Brother, Little Brother

**Big Brother, Little Brother**

Alphonse didn't know what to think when he saw the little boy sitting on the Colonel's front stoop. It was his brother – he knew that right away. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. <strong> Something light to follow up all of the hurt in _ABNE _and last time here with _IP_. This was the most desired story on that little poll I have up on my profile. I'll be taking this story off and adding another so keep an eye out to place your votes.

I didn't plan it this way, but this ended up turning into the first Parental!Roy/Al story I've ever written. I've always loved Partental!Roy/Ed but I never really found enough to work with between Roy and Al before. Then this happened and BOOM! I love it! Because Al is so much older in _ABNE_, there won't be much bonding between these two - more arguing actually. So I'm glad this turned out the way it did. I'm gonna go look for more Parental!Roy/Al stories now.

**Disclaimer:** Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

**Rating:** This story is rated K+

* * *

><p>Alphonse didn't realize he'd been moving until he found himself sitting on the porch, next to the small boy – such a small boy… two, maybe three years old. No… three. It had to be three. It had been that long.<p>

Those big golden eyes blink up at him curiously.

"Hi." The boy offered a smile and a small wave with his left hand. His right hand... Al couldn't keep his eyes from seeking out those fingers. Surely… but no. It was a simple prosthetic hand which immerged from the sleeve of the miniature coat-suit the boy was wearing. The fake limb rested almost uselessly on the child's lap and Al didn't need to look beyond the loose cloth of his pant leg to know that the left leg was the same.

He couldn't breathe. It felt like a vice had tightened its grip around his heart. His mind was slowly knitting the pieces together, filling in the gaps to form a conclusive whole which said, _Yes. Yes, this is my brother. This child is Ed. But he's lost so much. Why? Why couldn't he have at least gained back that which had already been taken?_

Then he berated himself. _It's my fault. I did this to him. How could I have been so foolish? I didn't specify. I didn't make myself clear. And now it's too late – far too late._

"Hey! Your eyes are just like mine." That precious voice rang out through the present moment and then struck a long forgotten note in Alphonse's memory. It was the same- exactly the same. And it was also all too clear that Ed had no idea who he was. Al's eyes burned with unshed tears as reality started to sink in. "Are you sad? Why are you sad? Don't cry."

"_Don't cry."_

_He'd fallen and skinned his knee. It hurt. It hurt so much. But Brother was there. Brother would help him._

"_Don't cry, Al. I'm here. C'mon. We're home now."_

The memory faded and Al wiped the tears from his eyes. It wouldn't do any good to frighten the child… the boy… his brother… Ed.

He smiled, just a little. "It's okay." He offered. "I'm not sad. I'm happy. These are happy tears." It wasn't entirely a lie. He was happy – happy that his brother was alive, happy that his brother was safe, happy to see him again even if he was… different. But it still hurt. It hurt a lot.

Ed… little Ed… seemed to accept that answer. He smiled and his eyes seemed to sparkle. "Oh! Right! Mommy said people cry at weddings sometimes because they're happy. Are you happy about the wedding, too? I'm happy! Daddy's getting married and Mommy is gonna be my Mommy for real."

_Daddy? Mommy? Who is he…? _Then he remembered the Colonel and the Lieutenant. The secretary at headquarters had said that they were getting married today. And this was Colonel Mustang's house. Did that mean… _Is he talking about Mustang?_

"Daddy said lots of people are coming to the wedding – Aunt Gracia and Elicia and Uncle Heymans and Uncle Kain and Uncle Vato and even Uncle Jean is coming and I'll get to ride in his chair with him. Are you coming to the wedding, too?"

"Uh…" Al was caught off guard by the question. He hadn't intended to intrude on their special day. He'd just wanted to inquire about his brother's whereabouts and then be on his way. But his brother was here – right here. And his brother was obviously going to the wedding… his parents wedding. He was even wearing a little bow tie. So where did that leave Al? "Um… no. I don't think so. I… can't. I just came to…"

"Ed!"

Alphonse jumped at the call from inside the house. The door was left ajar just enough that the sound wasn't muffled. Al didn't need to look to see who had spoken though. He recognized that strong, confident voice, even all these years later.

"I'm here, Daddy!" Little Ed called back.

Then there were footsteps and Al stood up quickly, realizing that Colonel Mustang was on his way out. _What should I do? _He wondered. _Should I stay? Go? What will he think? What will he say?_ Al stood frozen in indecision for a moment too long and the choice was made for him.

Colonel Mustang stepped out onto the front porch, dressed in a starched, white, button-down and his clean-pressed military issue dress uniform pants. His own bow tie was slung about his neck but not yet tied and the man seemed to be in the process of buttoning his cuffs.

"Ed, have you seen my other cuff-link? The gold one with –" He cut off mid-sentence when his eyes came to rest on Alphonse. Al tensed, not sure what to expect when the Colonel quickly stepped in front of Ed, shielding him from view. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Those sharp words surprised him only for a moment. Then he remembered. The Colonel had no idea who he was, what he looked like – he'd only ever seen him in the armor. He needed to identify himself quickly because this clearly wasn't just the Flame Alchemist he was facing – this was a father, and a fiercely protective one at that.

Something about that thought kept Al from responding right away, though. He became distracted by the simultaneously joyous and painful idea that his brother had a dad – a real dad who would do anything for him. And that dad was… Mustang. Somehow he thought his brother ought to be balking at the very idea and yet… he leaned to the side, his eyes drawn to the boy now standing and clinging to Mustang's pant leg.

Then Mustang was gently pushing the boy back and stepping forward menacingly. "I asked you a question."

Al wasn't sure when the Colonel had put his glove on but the sight of the ignition cloth froze his tongue once more. He needed to respond – to say something before Mustang decided to barbeque him. He just… didn't know what to say.

"Daddy… he's got golden eyes like me."

And then the man gasped in realization before eyeing Alphonse critically, as though to be sure his image fit the theory currently forming in his mind. Al let him look and watched as those fingers, once poised to snap, slowly lowered to hang once more by his side.

"Alphonse?"

Al took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Mustang seemed to take several moments to process this and Alphonse might have started to feel uncomfortable with the silence had his eyes not been drawn back to the boy… to Ed… who was now hobbling towards him at an unsteady gate. His… father made no move to stop the boy this time.

Then Ed was grabbing Al's hand and grinning, merrily. "Alphonse! Is that your name?" Al nodded mutely. "My name is Edward Maes Mustang. Pleased to meet you!"

Al shook the boy's hand but lifted his eyes to Mustang for guidance. He didn't… he just didn't know what to do. The Colonel seemed to realize Al's confusion and finally took pity on the younger man.

"Ed… why don't you go see if you can find my cuff link."

The boy turned and his smile seemed to grow even brighter. "Okay, Daddy. I think it's on the coffee table." Then Ed hobbled away and disappeared back into the house. Al watched him go – still at a loss as to what he should do.

"Alphonse." The Colonel called his attention. The man was staring at him with a look of a thousand questions. "You got your body back" was the first, although it wasn't really a question so much as a statement of fact, punctuated by amazement.

"Yes, sir." Al couldn't get his mind to focus on that reality at the moment. It was a story three years past and the young man was too caught up in the present.

"Where have you been?"

"…Xing…" He answered absently as his eyes drifted back to the door where his little, big brother had disappeared.

"Alphonse."

Al blinked and looked back at the Colonel. "Sorry. I… we just got back, just got… out of there." His mind flashed quickly to his harrowing escape from that war-torn country with Dr. Marcoh and May. He willed the vision away and focused once more on the present. "I was coming to see you to… I had hoped you could tell me where… where Brother… I didn't know. I didn't realize." He looked at the door again.

Then a strong hand settled itself on his shoulder and he turned to stare into Colonel Mustang's understanding eyes. "Come inside." The man said. "We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

><p>Al's tea went cold while he stuttered through an abridged tale of how he got his body back and, apparently, how Ed had been restored as an infant. Throughout the story, his eyes had drifted continuously towards the boy who was his brother, only to have his attention restored by the Colonel's gentle prompting.<p>

Ed had spent much of the time drawing circles on scraps of parchment at his own little table in one corner of the living room, but he had also looked back at Al enough times for him to wonder if the boy was listening to the story and if he could actually comprehend any of it. _Does he know we're talking about him? _Al made a conscious effort to avoid mentioning the more frightening details of the story in the presence of the child.

"You said your brother was hurt badly," the Colonel started. "Do you know exactly what happened?"

Al shook his head. "I didn't see it but, I did hear…" he hesitated and glanced over to make sure that little Ed was fully engrossed in his drawings before whispering, "There was a gunshot… and considering what Brother decided to do… it must've been fatal. He wouldn't have done that if there had been any other option."

The Colonel's eyes darkened and he, too, looked at the boy who was his son. Al could only imagine what was going through the man's mind at that moment. Was he picturing Ed at fifteen, lying mortally wounded on that cold warehouse floor? Or was he looking with the eyes of a father and seeing his three year old?

"A fatal wound… I suppose then, that your alchemy, your… gate as you call it, wasn't enough to restore him on its own. Something else had to be given."

Al nodded. "The Truth said something about that, said Brother would be different. I never imagined it would be like this though. I can't say I even understand how it makes sense. But… he's alive. I guess that's all that matters now."

He was still trying to convince himself of that. There wasn't anything he could do after all. Ed had been like this for three years and even if Al could think of a way to restore his brother to the proper age, he didn't have the ability to open the gate anymore. Ed was going to have to grow up all over again. He'd live a different life now and never be who he used to be. But he was alive. Al had to be grateful for that much, at least.

"Y-you found him?" He asked, wondering how Ed had come to live here, as Mustang's son.

"I did. And I adopted him not long after." There was a flash of something in the Colonel's eyes then – like a warning or a challenge. "I hope you don't have a problem with that."

The pieces came together quickly – what the Colonel was really asking. When it came down to it, Al was Ed's only living blood relative (disregarding their father, who had vanished so long ago) and, as such, had every right to claim the boy as his own. Al didn't know much about custody battles but he figured, if he pushed the issue in court, he could probably win. Of course, he'd be going up against Colonel Mustang and, in that instant, there was no doubt in Al's mind that the Flame Alchemist would do everything in his power to keep Ed as his son.

But… Al didn't want to fight the Colonel. That didn't seem right at all. The Colonel had taken Ed in and cared for him, loved him as his own. He hadn't had to do that but he did. For the past three years, his brother had a home – a real home with a real family, something they hadn't had since their mother died. Al was… grateful. He was so grateful that his brother hadn't been alone.

The Colonel had done so much for Ed and Ed clearly loved his adoptive father. It would be wrong to try and separate them. Besides, they were brothers – Al couldn't imagine himself taking on a parental role. That would just be weird. It was already weird enough as it was.

"No." He finally answered. "It's fine. I – I'm glad. Thank you, Colonel. Thank you for caring for him while I couldn't. You didn't have to – especially considering all the trouble Brother and I caused you through the years. I don't know how I can ever repay you for this."

"There's nothing to repay, Alphonse." The man's eyes were softer now. "You're right. I didn't have to keep him. I chose to – because, despite all the trouble you boys caused me in the past, I can't imagine my life now without Ed – or you."

Al gasped at those final words. They didn't make any sense. Al hadn't been there in three years. The Colonel had no reason to…

But that strong hand was on his shoulder again and the Colonel was smiling. It was the sort of gesture Al had come to associate with a moment between a father and son – he'd seen it enough times before but always accepted it as something he could never have. Now though…

"Welcome home, Alphonse. You came just in time." The smirk was a familiar one – his brother had complained about it often enough but Al found it somewhat endearing, even if he didn't understand what the Colonel was talking about.

"In time? In time for what?" And then he remembered – the little suit, the bow tie, the cufflinks! "Ah! Your wedding! I'm so sorry, sir. I'm interrupting. You're supposed to be getting ready!"

The man laughed. "Don't worry, Al. We've got two hours still and I'm more than halfway dressed. Ed's been ready since breakfast – I swear that kid is more excited about this than I am. So I guess the only one who needs to get ready is you."

"Wha – me?" Al waved his hands frantically. "No, no, no, no. I'm not going. It's your wedding day. I couldn't possibly…"

"Nonsense. You're coming."

"But –"

"You're family, Al." He cut off any further arguments Al could make. "You're Ed's brother and Ed is my son. In a way, that makes you my son, too, if you're willing to take it that far. But even if you're not – you're still family. You just got here – just got back from Xing and I can only imagine what horrors you faced trying to get out of there. Right now, you need to be with your brother and your brother is going to the wedding – so you're coming too."

Al could only nod in response. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected any of this – for his brother to be a child, to be Mustang's son… for Mustang to welcome him so warmly and basically claim him as well. Al couldn't really remember his own father but he had to wonder if this was what having a dad felt like.

"Daddy?" Little Ed had come over to lean against his father's leg.

"Yes, Ed?"

"He's my brother?"

Ed had been listening. Al's eyes widened at the realization. This little boy, who had no idea who he really was, had heard Mustang call them brothers. _What do I do? What should we tell him? He won't understand? He won't – _

"That's right, Ed. This is your brother. He's been gone a long time but he's home now."

Al gaped at Mustang and then at Ed, apprehensive about the boy's response. Ed stared back at him, searching, studying, and then deciding with a nod and offering the biggest, brightest, most heart-warming smile Al had ever seen.

"Welcome home, Brother!"

* * *

><p>"Here we go. This ought to work."<p>

Al watched Mustang pull a black suit jacket from his closet, to go along with the white, button-down shirt, black pants, and red tie he was already holding. Alphonse took the clothes warily, still feeling a bit odd to be borrowing the Colonel's clothes just so he could attend the man's wedding.

"It's astounding to realize that we're pretty much the same size. I keep picturing you towering over me in the armor. When I imagined you in your human body, I always assumed you'd be puny, like Fullmetal."

"C-Colonel! You can't make short jokes now! He's –"

"Why not? He can't complain about it now. He really is little."

"But it's not fair. He can't fight back." Even as he said it, Al found himself smiling. The mental image of Little Ed, as he was now, going off on a short rant was far too adorable. Still… Al felt that someone had to stand up in his brother's stead. "You shouldn't tease him like that."

The Colonel just laughed and gave Al a shove towards the bathroom. "Go try those on. Let me know if something doesn't fit. I have some others you can try."

Al rolled his eyes and went to change. As he was busy doing so, he overheard Mustang talking to little Ed in the bedroom.

"I found your cufflink, Daddy."

"Thank you, Son."

"Is it almost time for the wedding?"

"It is. Are you excited?"

"Yeah! It's like Solstice! I get a mommy and a brother all in one day!"

The Colonel's warm laugh followed those words and Al almost felt like crying. "That's right. And I get a wife and another son – and it's all because of you, Ed"

"Huh? Why me?"

"You made us a family, Ed. One, big, crazy family. Never forget that."

"I won't, Daddy."

Al got the impression that little Ed still didn't understand, but Al understood and he had to splash some water on his face to clear the tears from his eyes before he went back out. The clothes fit just fine. Actually, Al thought he looked rather dashing in a proper Amestrian suit and tie… well, the tie wasn't actually tied yet. The last time he'd worn a tie was at his mother's funeral and Granny Pinako had tied it then. He didn't know how.

"Um… Colonel?" He stepped out of the bathroom and held the two ends of his tie up in supplication. He blushed but was grateful when the man understood without him having to ask. Mustang smirked and ushered Al over to the floor length mirror by the door.

"Watch carefully."

Al was surprised when, instead of simply tying it for him, the Colonel took the tie and placed it around his own neck, then proceeded to knot it with slow and practiced motions. Al did as he was told and watched every move he made with the same careful study he'd put into learning new fighting techniques with his teacher. When Mustang was finished, he undid the tie, took it off, and handed it back to Alphonse.

"Now you try."

Just like that. Al smiled, feeling more and more at ease with the idea of Mustang being his brother's dad… and his dad too, it seemed, in a way. Al wrapped the tie around his own neck and tried to mimic the Colonel's movements. It took him two tries to get it right, and the final result was a bit crooked but he'd still managed and he felt pleased with himself for doing so.

"Looks good." Mustang complemented.

"Thank you, Colonel."

"Roy."

"What?"

"It's Roy. You were never in the military, Al. Not officially anyway. And you're not a child anymore. You can call me Roy."

"What about Dad?" The question slipped out before he could stop it and he wished he could bite his tongue off for asking. That was too much, too soon. He'd just gotten back and despite what the Colonel had said earlier, about his being another son, Al didn't think he was ready to just jump in and think of this man as his father. Surly Mustang wouldn't even be willing to go that far, just yet.

"If you like." Mustang didn't hesitate in answering and he sounded so sincere. It was almost as though… no, not almost. Al knew for sure then. Roy Mustang had already spent a lot of time thinking about this, deciding where he stood in this strange family.

All this time, Al had been planning on coming home to his brother. He'd never imagined that he would find himself coming home to a family – a family with an open place, ready and waiting for him.

It was too much. And he wasn't sure he was quite ready to accept it all just like that. But he knew that it would be there when he was ready, and that was a comforting thought.

"Thank you… Roy." He'd hold onto the 'Dad' for now. Maybe someday.

"Can I learn how to do a tie too, Daddy?" Ed asked from his seat on the bed.

Al and Roy shared a smile and a soft laugh. "When you're older, Son."

"Kay!" The boy seemed to accept the answer quickly enough. He hopped down off the bed with surprising ease, considering his simple prosthetic. Al figured he must've had the leg for a little while now to be so good with it already. But then, this was his brother – he couldn't imagine Ed not finding a way to move around quickly, with or without the leg. He was willing to bet that Ed had been crawling and scooting around on two limbs well before he'd been given the prosthetics.

"Let's go Big Brother Al! It's time for the wedding!"

Al froze, even as Ed grabbed his hand and tried to pull him along. That… that wasn't right. Things were different now. Al knew that. He was forcing himself to adjust and accept things quickly. He knew that things weren't going to be the same as they had been. But there were just some things that needed to stay the same.

"Brother." He squatted down next to the boy, who had stopped in confusion when Al didn't follow him.

"What's wrong, Big Brother Al?"

Alphonse shook his head. "It's just Al. You're the big brother. Not me."

"Huh?"

"Alphonse…"

Al ignored Mustang's warning and smiled. "Don't you ever let anyone tell you you're small, Brother. Size doesn't matter. You'll always be _my_ big brother."

And then Ed smiled and Al had to keep himself from crying all over again. But he didn't stop himself from pulling his little big brother close in a tight hug – a hug which lasted a rather long time as he realized… this was the first time he'd held his brother and been able to feel it in almost eight years. It was too, too wonderful.

Luckily, little Ed didn't seem to have a problem with this. He buried his face in the crook of Al's neck and held on just as tight. Hugs were awesome.

When they finally pulled apart, Ed grinned with a certain mischievous glint reminiscent of his years as the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Wait till I tell Mommy I got a little brother! She'll be so excited! C'mon, Al."

Roy Mustang smiled as he watched his boys leave his room. Then he grabbed his dress coat and followed them out. It was time for his wedding after all.


	5. Cherry Soda Floats

**Aurelo **

They call me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. I have no last name, no family, and nothing I can truly call my own – it has always been that way. But in my dreams I have a brother; I have friends; I have a different name – if only I could remember it when I wake up.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N. <strong> Lots of requests for more Aurelo. I have to admit this is probably my favorite _IP_. It's fun and has a lot of room to grow. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be to this little tale – not anywhere near as many as _ABNE_ – as I'm still working out the details of just how long I want to drag out Al's memory recovery.

**Disclaimer:** Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

**Rating:** This story is rated K+

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><p><strong>Chapter 3, Cherry Soda Floats<strong>

"I just can't believe you're really falling for it." Geoffrey's words grate at my carefully controlled temper. He's been at it since just after dinner last night, desperately attempting to deconstruct my hopes and dreams with his cynical doubts.

"Leave me alone, Geoffrey." I hitch my duffel higher up on my shoulder where it competes for space with my backpack and we continue our march towards the school. I think maybe I'll stuff the whole book bag in my locker for the weekend and cram whatever I need for homework into my duffel. I'm not exactly sure how far Ed's house is from the school but I don't really want to carry both bags the whole way.

"You don't mean anything to them. You're just like a new puppy for a pampered, rich kid. He'll get bored with you in a few weeks and toss you back out on the streets." Geoffrey ignores my protests and continues to yammer on about how I've been duped by false promises as a part of some social experiment or the latest trend among the upper classes. I sigh and try to tune him out.

It's hard though. As much as I would like to believe that this… arrangement between myself and Ed Mustang is going to last and as much as I am grateful for the opportunity… I can't help but have doubts of my own.

Because it is too good to be true. Things don't just fall in to place so perfectly like this – at least, they don't for kids like me.

What if Geoffrey's right? What if this is just a game to Ed – the latest fad or fashion, take in a West Side kid for a month? It totally seems like something the elites would do. They're fickle and silly that way.

All right, so that's not really fair. I'm stereotyping again and I don't even have anything real to base my opinions on – just hearsay and radio-dramas. For all I know, the wealthy families of Central City are just as normal as anyone else. In fact, they probably are. Normal, that is. They just have… lots of money and are used to getting whatever they want.

I don't think Ed is trying to hurt me. I don't think he's playing a game. I may not understand his reasons but I believe that, at least for now, Ed really does want to be my friend and help me out. How long that will last? Well… that's what I'm worried about.

I just can't let myself get too attached to them. That's all. I'm going to study alchemy – nothing more. I'll be Ed's friend. I'll even call him 'brother' sometimes since, for some strange reason, that seems to make him happy. But it doesn't mean anything. They aren't my family and they never will be. If I can just remember that, I'll be fine. If they get bored of me or just decide my talent isn't actually good enough to be worth honing, I'll be able to leave with no harm done – just the memory of a time in my life which wasn't quite so… dull.

"Shut up, Geoffrey!" Clara shoves herself between me and our obnoxious housemate, as though the physical barrier created by her body could somehow block out the cruelty of his words. I just roll my eyes and smile softly. I've never needed her to stand up for me. I've told her that plenty of times. But she still does it anyway so I've stopped trying.

"Why do you have to be such a jerk? This is a great opportunity for Relo."

"Should you be calling him 'Al'? Or didn't you hear? The rich, little, alchemist boy gave him a new name."

Clara opens her mouth to respond but then stops and looks at me. "That's right… are you okay with that, Relo? Do you… want us to call you 'Al' too?"

There's a million cen question. Do I want to change my name? I mean, not legally or anything – I wouldn't even know how to begin doing that. But do I want to start going by "Al" instead of "Relo"?

Admittedly, I like "Al" better. But it wasn't something I chose for myself. Ed gave me that name. Could I really take it on as my own when I know that this might not last – probably won't actually? Once this arrangement ends, however it does, will I be able to continue going by "Al" or will that be too difficult?

I need to think about it some more. For now, I shrug. "Call me whatever you want."

Maybe I won't have to choose. Maybe Clara and the other people I know will choose for me. After all, people don't usually choose their own names or nicknames. Others pick them and bestow them for reasons which are often only known to a few. I don't know why Ed wants to call me "Al" but he must have a reason; just like he must have a reason for wanting me to call him "Brother."

Of course, it's up to me whether or not to use that title. Last night… what he did for me earned it, at least the once. The smile he gave me in reply… that might be enough of a reason to say it again in the future.

* * *

><p>My classes drag on for eternity. I spend most of the lectures doodling transmutation circles in my notebook. If I'm going to start learning serious alchemy this weekend, I want to make sure that I've got everything I already know down pat. There's no sense in rehashing things I've already learned. I want to start with something fresh.<p>

General Mustang will probably want to assess my abilities before we get started so I'll have to show him my best work. Admittedly, it won't be much – not compared to what Ed can do. I never would have been able to fix my backpack since I haven't got a clue what it's made out of – cotton and polyester maybe? What's the chemical breakdown of polyester? I could have fixed the plate… sort of. It probably would have been covered in transmutation marks and been likely to break again if I had done it.

I need to demonstrate something that I know will be good. I should probably use wood. I have the most practice with that. I could make paper – it's a beginner's transmutation really but… if I could shape the paper, fold it into a glider or… or a crane! Clara is always folding little paper cranes. She showed me how once. That would be pretty cool. I'd be demonstrating both my ability to transmute wood into paper and to simultaneously manipulate its shape into something far more complex. I spend the entirety of my last class before gym working out the details of the array I will need.

For once, I don't dawdle in the locker room after school. I am the first one out after a hasty shower and change. I swing by my locker to stow my backpack, grab my duffel, and wave to Clara on my way out. I'm pretty sure I hear her wishing me luck but I don't turn back to check.

This is it – my first day as a real alchemist.

I wonder how long Ed has been learning - probably since he was old enough to read. Maybe before that even. I know he's far more advanced than I am. I'll have to study hard to catch up. I don't want to slow him down. Maybe he'll teach me that clapping trick. It must come in handy to be able to transmute without an array.

My mind buzzes with excited, sporadic thoughts as I march towards Midtown. I have… a general idea of where I'm going. It helps that Central is set up like a grid. Nearly every street runs either North-South or East-West. It's very well organized. West Side is obviously in the Western District which is mostly industrial with lots of factories and warehouses and a smattering of residential areas throughout. West Central Secondary School is in Sunset Park, on the Eastern edge of the Western District, right next to the Shopping district. The Shopping District is actually one big circle, around the heart of Central City. Within that circle is another one – the Business District. And finally, at the very center off the Business District, is Central Headquarters.

Central Hills is in the Eastern District, right on the edge of the Eastern quarter of the Shopping District. The Eastern quarter is basically considered a part of Central Hills because it caters specifically to the elite. Central Academy is in the Eastern quarter of the Business District and is the only secondary school in the heart of Central City. Midtown is to the South as Central Hills and Sunset Park are to the East and West, respectively.

Ed said he'd meet me halfway between West Central Secondary and Central Academy but he didn't tell me which street he would be using. It makes sense though, if Central Academy is directly to the East, that Ed would take Center Street which bisects the city, running East-West. With this in mind, I cut South for two blocks and then head East on Center Street, through the Shopping District.

About forty-five minutes into my walk, I start to wonder if I made a mistake. I'm not lost. I basically know where I am, even though I've never been here before. I know that I can get back to Lambert House from here if I need to.

It's the needing to part that's starting to worry me. I haven't seen Ed set. What if he forgot? What if he took a different road? What if Geoffrey was right and this was all some kind of twisted joke or game – who could get a random West Side kid to walk clear across Central City – like a weird club initiation or something?

I remember Ed's goofy smile and the affronted look on his face when I told him I wasn't allowed to practice alchemy. I remember the pleading look in his eyes while we waited for Mrs. Lambert to give her permission for me to come.

_It's not a joke_, I tell myself. Ed meant it. I know he did. He must've taken a different street, that's all. Or maybe Central Academy is farther away than I thought. I'm sure I'll meet up with him soon. I readjust my duffle – it feels heavier than it did when I started.

I'm in the business district now. There are a lot of office buildings and a smattering of cafés and deli's which seem to be bustling with businessmen and women, trying to grab a bite to eat on their breaks. I see a lot of military uniforms and note one or two silver pocket-watch chains. It's common knowledge that the State Alchemists wear pocket watches. I saw General Mustang's chain last night. I think… it'd be pretty cool to have one of those – to actually be good enough to earn State Certification. It's wishful thinking for someone like me. I know that. Still, it's something to aspire to, even if it is just a dream.

_Climb high, climb far. Your goal the sky. Your aim the star._ One of my primary school teachers had that written at the top of her chalkboard all year long. I must have read it a thousand times. I thought it was pretty dumb at first. You can't touch the sky or the stars. Climbing won't get you there. Even the tallest mountain doesn't reach that high. Now, though, I think it's not so bad to set impossible goals – even though you know you can't ever reach them, at least you always have something to reach for. After all, if you achieve your life's goal… what else do you have to live for?

I sit down on a bench outside of an office – it looks like a lawyer's or a realtor's office, one of those places with a lot of alliterated names like Bromin, Bromin, and Birsh. There is an ash tray next to the bench and the whole area stinks like cigarettes but I need to take a break and I don't have enough money to sit down in one of the restaurants – I don't think they'd be too happy if I took a seat away from paying customers.

There's some sort of café across the street. It's filled to the brim with blue uniforms. At first, I think it must be a popular military hangout. Then I hear the giggling of a gaggle of girls and look again. Those aren't military uniforms. They're just the same color. And the customers aren't soldiers. They're kids – well teenagers anyway. The oldest ones are probably sixteen or seventeen and just as tall as any adult. That's why I didn't realize it at first glance. Looking closer now, I recognize the burnt gold accents of Central Academy uniforms, like the one Ed was wearing.

If so many Central Academy students are here, I must be close. I don't think I've passed Central Headquarters yet so I'm still in the Western quarter. Central Academy must be pretty close to HQ then – a couple of blocks maybe. That, or this café is just really good.

I peer across the way, looking into the crowd and then stop myself as I realize that I'm looking for Ed. He wouldn't be in there. He supposed to be coming to meet me. Heck, he's probably almost to WSCS by now. We must have passed each other.

I stand up and heave my duffle over my shoulder again, preparing to head back the way I came, when a familiar voice stops me.

"It wasn't my fault! Les knocked the bucket over – not me!"

I spin around and finally see Ed, walking across the street, towards the café. He was talking loudly to two other Central Academy kids.

"Yeah, because you threatened to hit him with your automail." The other boy commented with a snickering grin.

"I did no such thing. I just lifted my arm a bit. He's the one who over-reacted and freaked out like I was trying to kill him. And even if was going to hit him – which I wasn't! – He would have deserved it. Idiot needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

"Why? Because he called you sho –"

Ed shoots his friend a dark look which almost makes me shiver in fear. "Don't say it." The other boy just laughs.

"Seriously, Ed." The girl speaks up for the first time. "You need to learn to control your temper. If you had just ignored him, we wouldn't have had to help clean up that mess. We're so late now – it'll take forever to wait in line." She gestures to the crowd at the café.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in but when they do, it hurts. Ed's going to the café – with his friends. That means… he did forget. And if he forgot, then…

"You guys didn't have to help. You could have gone on ahead."

"And let you slip away again? No way. You haven't hung out with us in ages. We are taking you to the Malt Shoppe, whether you like it or not."

"Not today, Kale! I already told you. I have…"

I shrug my bag up higher on my shoulder and tune out the rest of his words. I feel so stupid. Geoffrey was right. This wasn't real. It was never real. I was foolish to think I could actually have a chance. Ed isn't my brother. He's not even my friend. He's just some spoiled rich kid who happened to cross my path and tried to be nice by offering me a chance to do what I've always dreamed about. He probably had no idea how much it would hurt me when he completely forgot.

I turn to go.

"Al!"

Back down Center Street.

"Hey, Al!"

Back to West Side.

"Al! Wait up!"

Back to just being –

"Al!" Someone grabs by elbow and spins me around, causing my duffle to fling wildly and fly off my shoulder. It settles in the crook of my arm for less than a moment before dropping onto the sidewalk with a heavy thump. "

"Sheesh, didn't you hear me?" I look up to see Ed grinning that same goofy grin he was wearing the day before. I blink in surprise. I had heard him. I just… I'm not used to responding to that name. It didn't really register until after he caught me. I open my mouth to tell him so but he cuts me off. "Nevermind. Where are you going? Did you get lost? Man, I'm sorry. I meant to meet you in the Shopping District but I got stuck cleaning up this big mess at school and then my friends were trying to get me to hang out with them so I had to tell them I had plans and… what?"

He stops talking and gives me a funny look. It takes me a moment to realize that it's because I'm smiling. I am smiling. Because… he didn't forget. He remembered. He just got held up. And he's here now. And I'm happy. I _really_ happy to see him.

It's an odd feeling. I don't think I've been this happy to see someone since I was a little kid. Back then, I would get attached to some of the caretakers at Butterfly House. I guess I thought of them as my family. But eventually I grew up and realized that I was just a part of their job. At the end of the day, they went home to their own houses with their real families – something I could never have.

"You okay, Al?"

I start and shake myself out of my thoughts. I have no reason to be so happy, not really. I'm just… relieved, because I still have a shot at becoming a real alchemist. _Don't get attached_, I remind myself. I take a deep breath and offer Ed an easy, friendly smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired. It was a long walk."

"I bet." He looks back over his shoulder at the café. His friends must have gone inside already. "Well, hey, since you're here now, you can come meet my friends. They're in the Malt Shoppe. We can get drinks and sit for awhile."

_Malt Shoppe_. I mouth the words silently. So it isn't a café. I've heard of Malt Shoppes before. Never been to one, but I've heard of them. They serve sodas and ice cream. It's no wonder all of the Central Academy kids hang out there.

And now Ed wants me to go with him to meet his friends and have a drink. I would love too. Sodas are pretty rare in West Side. I had a seltzer water once. The fizz was interesting but it didn't taste all that great. The flavored sodas are supposed to taste better.

But… I put a hand in my pocket and finger the handful of coins I have. It's not much – just left over milk money. It won't be enough for a soda. Still, I can't really tell Ed that I don't want to go. His friends are there and he's already doing me a big favor by inviting me over and giving me the chance to learn alchemy. I don't want to put him out. Maybe I can just get a lemonade or something. I should have enough for that.

"Okay, sure." I agree and reach down to pick up my duffel, but it's gone. Looking up, I find it already slung over Ed's arm – his right arm, the metal one. He's carrying his own backpack over the left. I open my mouth to protest but he just grins.

"C'mon, Al. Wait till you meet Kale and Bri. They're pretty cool."

I follow Ed across the street and into the Malt Shoppe. The crowd has thinned a bit but the place is still buzzing with conversations and clinking dishes and a steady hum from the large refrigeration units keeping the ice cream frozen. There's also a radio mounted on one wall, playing just loud enough to be barely audible over all of the other noises. _Jazz_, I think. Stella likes to listen to jazz sometimes.

I can't see much of the Malt Shoppe itself through the crush of bodies but the decorations are primarily blue and white – military blue. This place caters to soldiers and to Central Academy. A bar wraps around most of the exterior wall with blue-cushioned stools mounted to the floor on one leg. The tables in the middle of the room have blue tops and the chairs have the same blue cushions as the stools, but with white, heart-shape, wire backs.

Ed looks about wildly, searching for his friends I suppose. When he spots them, he grabs my arm and tugs me over to the bar at the front of the shop which is right in front of the kitchen. I can see the servers working quickly, pulling levers and pushing buttons and scooping ice cream. Every glass they fill has a thick layer of froth on top, fizzy and bubbly. I take a deep breath and find that the whole place smells like sugar.

"Kale! Bri!" Ed calls out to his friends. The boy and girl both spin around in their seats, their eyes wide open with surprise.

"Ed! You came." The girl smiles.

"Thought you had to meet someone." The boy sounds a bit perturbed but his voice has a teasing edge to it so I don't think he's really mad.

"I did. I do. He's here." I am suddenly propelled forward to stand in front of Ed, facing his two friends.

"Um… hi." I am suddenly very aware of the fact that these two kids, like Ed, are from Central Academy. In fact every other kid in this place is from Central Academy, dressed in their perfect uniforms, with perfect hair and new shoes. And then there's me… in my hand-me-downs and torn sneakers. I feel incredibly out of place here. I don't belong. I know I don't. There's no way Ed's friends are going to like me. _Ed_ shouldn't like me. This was a mistake – one big huge mistake. I'm just going to embarrass myself and then Ed will realize how dumb it was to reach out to a kid like me. He lives in a different world – a world I could never hope to belong to.

"Hi. I'm Brianna Knox. But you can just call me Bri." The girl is still smiling and it doesn't look fake or forced in any way. Her voice is soft and nice. She has a kind face too – stormy blue eyes framed by dark blonde hair. She offers a hand for me to shake.

"Kale Turing." The boy offers his name as well. He is also smiling but it's more like a friendly smirk than the welcoming smile Brianna gives me. His green eyes rove over me curiously, like he's trying to figure me out, and I find myself wishing I'd worn better clothes. I didn't realize I was going to have to make any first impressions today.

Fortunately, I don't think Kale is too concerned about my clothes. I know when he finds whatever he's looking for because his eyes stop searching and meet mine with a friendly twinkle.

I take Bri's hand and shake it quickly, all the while hoping that my face isn't as flushed as I think it is. "I'm… um, Aurelo. But everybody just calls me Relo."

Bri's head tilts to one side and her eyes narrow in confusion as she looks between me and Ed. "Ed said your name was Al."

I look at Ed, blinking, but he just shrugs. I didn't realize he was telling other people about me or that he was using that name instead of my given name. Sure he'd told his dad that he calls me Al but he'd used my real name first. Now he'd telling his friends that my name is Al. If everyone starts calling me that… it's going to be a lot harder to leave the name behind when this is all over.

"Oh… yeah. That's what Ed calls me. You can call me that too, I suppose." Let them decide for themselves. It's easier that way.

"Well, which do you prefer?" I think Bri must be one of those people who always take other people's feelings into consideration. She'd make a good doctor probably, or a counselor.

But to answer her question… honestly? "I like 'Al' better." I can practically _feel_ Ed grinning behind me and I'm tempted to roll my eyes at his self-satisfied gloating.

"Are you guys related?" I look up at Kale in surprise. "Cause you totally could be. You've got Ed's eyes, Al. What are you guys? Cousins?"

"Um… no. We're just frien –"

"Al's my little brother."

Ed is still grinning from ear to ear when I spin around to glare at him. "Ed! I am not. Don't say that."

His smile dims. "You called me 'Brother' last night."

"I… that was…" a mistake apparently. I really don't want to have an argument in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It's bad enough that Kale and Bri are listening. I don't want to draw any more attention. This whole thing is stupid anyway. Why can't he just let it drop? "I was just being nice, as a thank you. It was a onetime thing. So please, just… don't."

Ed frowns and he looks for a moment like he's biting his tongue. When I look at his eyes, I find that I can read the emotions flickering through them – anger, hurt, sadness. It doesn't make any sense. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks up at me again… it's like he's put on a mask. His smile is back and his eyes are relaxed, if a little bit darker than they were before.

What was that?

"Okay. Sure, Al." He sits down on a recently vacated stool, two over from Bri, leaving a space between them which is apparently for me. I sit, feeling a bit awkward for being between Ed and his friends but also kind of glad that I wasn't stuck on the end and forgotten. Ed picks up a menu and starts perusing the options.

On my other side, Kale and Bri are exchanging confused glances and I get the feeling that they will be asking Ed for clarification later. I'd like some clarification myself. This whole "Brother" thing is getting a little out of hand. He can't just go around telling people that we're brothers. Even if we do look alike, there are too many factors which make that statement completely untrue. I don't like telling lies. Even if it's just a joke or pretend, I don't like it. I'm going to have to make that clear eventually. But not here. Later.

I pick up a menu. Just as I thought, the prices are way too high for me, but I can afford a lemonade. With that in mind, I look through the rest of the menu and think about what I might like to get if I ever come back with more money.

A waitress comes to the counter with two drinks, ice cream sodas, for Kale and Bri. Then she turns to take my order. "What can I get for you, Sweetheart."

I hide my cringe at her term of endearment. "I'll… just have a lemonade, please."

"What?!" I look at Ed, who is staring at me incredulously. "No way, Al. You gotta get a soda."

"Um… that's alright, Ed. I don't –"

"You haven't _lived_ till you've had a cherry float. C'mon, you gotta get one. They're so good."

"No, Ed. I…" I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to tell anybody. Back home, in West Side, I wouldn't have had to. But Ed and these other kids… they don't know what it's like. They haven't got a clue. I lower my voice and lean in closer so that no one else will hear me. "I can't afford that, Ed. Lemonade is fine. Really."

Ed blinks but at least he has the courtesy to lower his voice when he replies. "Don't worry about it, Al. I've got it. Get anything you want."

And of course he would offer. I shake my head. "No. You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"Well, I don't. You're already doing so much for me. I can never repay you. I can't ask you to do more."

"Al, I'm the one who dragged you in here. The least I can do is pay for your drink."

"No!"

"What'll it be, boys?" The waitress seems to be getting annoyed with our argument.

I look up and speak before Ed can say anything more. "Just the lemonade. Thank you."

She nods and moves on to Ed. He's glaring at me – not in a mean way. It's more of an I'm-not-letting-you-get-away-with-this kind of look. But I've already placed my order. There's nothing he can do.

Suddenly, he smiles, big and wide and confident. "Two cherry soda floats and a glass of water for me, thanks."

The waitress is gone before I realize what he's done.

"Ed!"

"What? I want two." He stops and seems to consider Kale and Bri's floats for a moment but the wicked glint in his eye belies his acting skills. "Wait… those things are a lot bigger than I remember. I don't think I'll be able to finish both of them. Darn! I already put the order in. I guess you'll just have to drink the other one, Al. I hope you don't mind."

I want to refuse. I want to dump the whole thing over his head when it gets here, but that would be a waste. He's so… infuriating! And he knows it two. But that stupid, stupid smile is back and… well, I did want to try the cherry float. Stupid Ed. Why do I get the feeling he's going to keep doing things like this?

Still, I can't help but smile back at him. "You're a real jerk, you know that?"

"Yup!"

I laugh and so does he.

When our drinks come, I find that he's right. The cherry soda float is amazing, all fizzy and frothy and sweet.

Ed and Bri and Kale talk about a lot of different things – school stuff mostly, their next test and when projects are due. I just sit back and listen, sipping my soda and commenting every now and then. Kale and Bri are pretty cool.

When it's time to pay and leave the Malt Shoppe, Ed covers my lemonade too. I don't bother arguing. It's no use. He's too sneaky. And what are a few cens, anyway? If this alchemy thing pans out, I'll owe him more than I could ever hope to repay. I don't think he realizes that though. For an alchemist… he's not very focused on equivalent exchange.


End file.
